


An Unexpected Lesson : The Twins First American Christmas

by samwysesr



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Twincest, maxicest, maximoffcest, scarletsilver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda and Pietro Maximoff have special plans for the holidays—they're starting their very own Christmas tradition, based on a long ago vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Lesson : The Twins First American Christmas

_**OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS IN**_ America was nothing like what I’d imagined it would be—in our homeland, the holiday was focused on celebrating the miraculous birth of the Savior, while  sharing good tidings with family and friends. Our family would attend church service on Christmas Eve and then, if Mama insisted, we might go caroling; when we returned home, we would open our presents, then a few of our elderly neighbors who didn’t have families of their own would join us for some of Mama’s special holiday tea. The adults would take turns telling stories long into the night—Pietro and I always fell asleep curled up beneath the Christmas tree long before they were done. Of course, my memories of those special Christmases are slowly becoming fuzzy, half-remembered things; they have been faded by the passing of time… and shadowed by the loss of our parents.  I suppose I was expecting to feel that same sense of wonder and goodwill in America as the holiday approached, but unfortunately, I discovered that things seem very, very different here in the States.

In my opinion, most Americans seem to lose complete control of common good sense when the holiday season rolls around. The exorbitant amount of money that is wasted on foolish, useless things is quite appalling—it is almost as though the people here think that Christmas is about _consumerism._ I completely understand putting up a tree and purchasing one or two gifts for the people you love, but for me,  the true meaning of Christmas has always been about helping those who are in _need_. Perhaps it is just me, but I think the money that is wasted on decorations and fancy wrapping paper would be better used to provide food and blankets to the homeless that live on the streets. It tears at my heart that some people really seem to believe it is more important to drape a house in colored lights, or to place a life sized nativity scene in their yard  than to save a person’s life—maybe because I can easily remember what it felt like when my brother and I didn’t have a home of our own.  I can still feel the chill of those freezing, icy nights, when all I wanted was something warm to huddle underneath, and a decent meal for my empty, aching belly. Pietro… he remembers it too—that’s why we decided to start our own Christmas tradition: we would do our best to help the people that society _chose_ to ignore.

Which, coincidentally, is why we began stockpiling things three weeks ago and sneaking them up to our suite. None of our teammates had the slightest inkling what we were doing—we didn’t want them volunteering out of guilt, or in some sort of misguided attempt to win our trust—but  fate had other plans.

I’d just returned from a last minute trip into the nearest town; I was on  my way up to the suite, my arms laden down with plastic shopping bags full of thick, fleecy sweat suits when I ran into Stark on the stairs—and when I say _ran into,_ I actually mean just that. He rounded the corner, completely consumed with the paperwork in his hands—slamming into me so hard that he almost knocked me off my feet. Instinctively I dropped my bags, grabbing for the metal rail—afraid I was going to tumble backwards down the stairs.

My muttered curse caught his attention; he glanced up at me, surprised—his eyes slowly dropping to the spilled contents of my parcels. “Little witch… we’ll provide you with training clothes—”

“They’re not for me,” I snapped. “They are Christmas presents.”

“The entire team has the appropriate—”

“They’re not _for_ the team.” I scowled at him, bending down to gather up the clothing—groaning when I realized one of the bags had split at the seam.

“Here… let me help.” To my surprise, he stooped down to help me, stacking the sweat suits in his arms. “So… who are they for?”

“If you must know, the homeless. Pietro and I are going to hand them out tonight.”

“Christmas isn’t technically until tomorrow,” he quipped, flashing me a grin.

“Tomorrow we are going to be busy—we are going to an orphanage,” I muttered, getting to my feet.

“Orphanage?”

“Yes… you know… a place where children who don’t have families live.” I shot him a dark look. “With all your money, it never occurred to you to do something charitable at Christmas time?”

He didn’t seem put off by my accusation. “Of course—I’m just not quite so… involved. I write a check.”

“Well I’m sure that is a very big comfort to all the little children who live there,  waiting for a Father Frost that never appears,” I said sarcastically, juggling my bags as I attempted to move past him. “You realize that most of the money from your checks probably ends up in the administrator’s pockets, right?”

“Hold on… one thing at a time—who the hell is Father Frost?”

I blushed. “You know what I mean… here he is Santa Claus.”

“Hmmm. Tell me, are you always this cynical?”

“Yes—but that doesn’t change the facts. I researched it—donations go to administrative expenses, then housings costs and food. Most of these children have been in the system for years—they’ve never had a real Christmas, with toys or games. They’re given things like second hand clothing and school supplies.”

“So you and your brother are going to play Santa… excuse me… Father Frost…  for the homeless and the orphans this year?”

I could feel his curious gaze on me—it made me distinctly uncomfortable. I shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”

We hit the top of the landing—I tried not to glance over at the elevator, but he caught my look of longing. “You can use it, you know—all you have to do is press the button. It’s a relatively easy process.”

“No I can’t.” I said, frowning as I tried to ignore the temptation to give in—I still had four flights to climb, and my arms were beginning to feel like lead.

“Why not?” Ignoring my protest, he punched the button.

“Orders. Romanov forbid me to use it—I’m supposed to be building up strength in my legs.”

He smirked—his eyes dropping down to my legs. “I think she’d make an exception when you’re carrying twenty pounds of clothing, Wanda.”

“Orders are orders,” I said obstinately, turning away as the elevator door opened.

“Oh for God’s sake,” he muttered, dumping the sweatshirts on the floor and grabbing for my bags.

“Hey! Stop that—”

“You have to use the stairs—the bags don’t. I’ll meet you on your floor.” He gave a final hard jerk, pulling them out of my hands—smirking at my astonishment. “Better hurry—this thing moves fast.”

The doors closed before I could respond.

Irritated by his taunt, I sprinted up the remaining flights as fast as I could, ignoring the sharp ache that lanced my side as I hit the top step. I rounded the corner, trying to mimic the graceful way my brother always manages to skid to a stop—but as luck would have it, he inherited every single ounce of coordination, leaving me with none. I tripped over my own foot, landing in a heap outside the elevator just as the doors slid open.

Stark took one look at me and started laughing.

I glared at him, silently daring him to speak; lucky for him, the door to our suite jerked open before he summoned up a sarcastic response. Pietro came flying down the hall, his face full of concern as he dropped down beside me, pulling me into his arms. “What happened? I felt—”

“I… tripped,” I mumbled, burying my face in his neck.

“Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Only my pride,” I whispered.

“She’s probably overtired from carting all these bags around,” Stark offered, setting them out in the hall. “I told her she should have used the elevator—”

 “And I told you—I can’t.”

“What is all that? I thought we agreed we had enough?” Pietro’s forehead wrinkled as he gently helped me to my feet before moving over to paw through the bags.

“I wanted to make sure we had some spares… just in case. I don’t want anyone left out.” I grabbed two of the bags, moving towards our suite.

“What time are the two of you planning this little expedition?”

I dropped the bags inside the door, turning to eye Stark suspiciously; Pietro’s eyes flicked between us for a moment, then he scooped up the remaining bags, moving to my side. “In about an hour, I think. When we were homeless, we felt safer venturing out after dark—there was less chance of people harassing us when we dug through the trash for food. We’re assuming the people here will feel the same way we did.”

Stark winced—I wondered if he was feeling guilty for the part he played in destroying our home and leaving us to forage for scraps; Pietro’s eyes narrowed at the expression on the older man’s face—I could feel his irritation prickling through my mind. “When you are hungry and your choice is either starving or eating refuse, you don’t have the option to be finicky.”

I reached out, laying my hand on my brother’s arm as I gazed at Stark—immediately Pietro’s anger ebbed back, replaced by the warm, comforting brush of his mind against mine. “Why did  you want to know? Was there something you needed us for… or…?”

“I thought I might join you—”

Our laughter cut him off; he scowled, his eyes darting between us. “What’s so funny about that?”

“I’m sorry,” I wheezed out, leaning against Pietro for support, “are you actually serious? You are volunteering to wander the streets with us… to interact with the homeless?”

Stark smirked. “Why not? I don’t have any pressing engagements—and you just chastised me for not being hands on, remember?”

I didn’t answer at first—instead I reached out, brushing the edges of his mind. I was searching for some hidden deception or ulterior motive, but there was none to find. Instead… surprisingly enough, I was shocked to find that the man genuinely _wanted_   to spend the evening helping Pietro and I spread a little goodwill to those who needed it most. Arching a speculative brow, I withdrew from his head.

“Well? Convinced I’m not cooking up some dastardly scheme to foil your plans?” He asked sarcastically.

“Yes… actually, I am. If it is alright with Pietro, you can come. Dress warmly—but not ostentatiously. We want to blend in, not stand out.”

“Discretion is my middle name.” He handed me the sweatshirts, smiling. “I’ll send someone up to  load all your gifts into one of the vans. See you in an hour.”

I watched him walk away, still not fully trusting his sudden charitable spirit; old grudges die hard—especially the ones that are stained with familial blood. When he finally disappeared around the corner, I glanced over at Pietro, jerking my head towards our suite. He followed me inside, watching in silence as I moved to unload the bags, adding the sweat suits I’d purchased to the appropriately sized stacks that I’d made along the wall.

“I don’t understand why he wants to come.” Pietro sank down on the couch, frowning.

“He doesn’t understand either, I think. He can’t imagine anyone willingly spending Christmas Eve wandering around in the cold, handing out clothing,” I murmured, crossing the room to climb into his lap. “He wants to spend the evening with us… to help us do this, since it is important to us.”

“Can a leopard change its spots?” He mumbled, nuzzling my cheek.

“Maybe in this case… the answer is yes. Maybe tonight he will truly see how these people suffer, and he will want to change that.” I kissed his cheek, pulling away. “We should get ready—I need to pack some snacks up for you… did you find the food I left?”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “What was left of it—the others found it first.”

“I am sorry my love… we will stop and get you something on the way, yes?”

“I can wait until we get home.”

As I headed for the bedroom, I glanced over at the other stacks we’d made along the wall—immediately freezing in place. “Pietro… what did you do while I was gone?”

“Nothing… I—”

I turned around, narrowing my eyes. “Then pray tell me, dear brother… why there is a new stack of toys that was not there when I left.”

His head ducked down, but not before I saw the red flare up in his cheeks. “Well… you know… like you said… I don’t want anyone left out. And toys break, Wanda.  This way they will have extra ones to share.”

Warm wetness prickled my eyes; I flew across the room, wrapping my arms around his neck—covering his face in kisses. He laughed, immediately joining the game, doing the same to me. When our lips finally met, the kissing war was over—both of us had won.

“Do I dare ask what I did to deserve that?” He asked, a little breathless as he pulled away.

“It was because you have a big, kind heart… and because I am a very lucky girl to have you. I love you so very, very much.” I murmured, smiling. “Now come on… I want to get changed before they show up for the blankets and clothes. God above forbid we make Tony Stark wait on us for a single minute—we’d never hear the end of it.”

“We have a whole hour,” he huffed, trying to grab me—I danced back, just out of reach, shooting him a teasing smile.

“None of that! If we start, we will get distracted.”

“Wanda,” he groaned, inching closer; his pout transformed into a feral smile as I darted around the couch. “Come on… tonight we will be out wandering the streets again, just like we used to do. Doesn’t that excite you just a little?”

I was far more excited by the hungry look in his eyes—but admitting that definitely wouldn’t be proactive. “Pietro… we don’t have time!”

“I can be very fast,” he said, eying the couch between us—he vaulted himself over the back of it, closing the distance between us.

I shivered, trying to ignore the heat that flared to life in the lower parts of my body. “Yes… but—”

“And you _love_ it when I go fast, yes? Unless your moans of pleasure mean something else entirely…” he purred, reaching out and grabbing my arms.

“I do… but we can’t be late… think of how cold it is outside…” It was a half-hearted argument—he knew he had already won.

“We won’t be,” he murmured, slowly lowering his mouth, brushing it teasingly against mine. “You can time me…”

I groaned against his lips, leaning into his body—my mind merging with his as our mouths moved together in a hungry, desperate kiss. He smiled as my thoughts of surrender flowed between us—before I could blink, my clothing was scattered on the floor. A heartbeat later, my back hit the wall—then he was sliding inside me and all rational thought completely left my mind.

 

_**DESPITE OUR FRENZIED TRYST**_ , we made it to the garage on time. The same could not be said for our teammate—we had to wait an additional twenty minutes for him to show up. That in and of itself was enough to make me prickly… and things just went downhill from there.

Stark didn’t have much to say as we drove into the city; his uncharacteristic reserve was making me almost as uneasy as his choice of clothes. When I’d said to dress down, I’d meant it—Pietro and I were both wearing dark colored sweats, similar to the ones we’d be passing out; I’d added a thick woolen shawl to help keep me warm—that was something my brother didn’t have to worry about, thanks to his hyped up metabolism .

Stark obviously had no idea what blending in meant—he was wearing a Santa Claus suit.

“Your outfit… it is very festive, yes?” Pietro asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up when the man had appeared in the garage.

“It’s seasonally appropriate,” Stark responded, climbing into the van without another word.

The entire trip, I fought against the urge to enter his mind—wondering what on earth he was thinking. This wasn’t a _joke_ —we were trying to help people _live_ through the harshness of winter’s freezing cold. I glared at the back of his head, ignoring Pietro’s soothing murmurs—he thought it was an amusing thing Stark had done… but me? I was just plain mad, though I held my tongue. I couldn’t afford to have my anger infect Pietro—if it did, and he attacked Stark… our wonderful plans would be ruined.

Thankfully he was far too excited to be affected by my mood; he’d spent the last week scouring the city at night—searching for the areas where people were most likely to try and find shelter from the cold. He directed the driver to an empty parking lot beside an old, abandoned warehouse in one of the poorest areas of town—then hopped out of the van, disappearing into the darkness.

Stark frowned, glancing back at me. “Where’s he going?”

“Wait and see,” I murmured, climbing out of the van. A moment later Pietro zipped up beside me, pushing a metal shopping cart—immediately taking off as soon as I stepped forward to claim it.

“Ingenious—I was wondering how you planned on transporting everything.” Stark moved to the back of the van, opening the rear doors.

“He’s stashed carts in each of the five locations we’ll be visiting,” I said, unable to keep the slightest hint of anger from seeping into my voice.

He stared at me for a moment, then jerked down the ridiculous cottony white beard that covered the bottom half of his face. “Do you want to tell me what I did wrong… or should I guess?”

I pursed my lips. “This is serious to us… not a joke. You mock us with that outfit.”

“Actually, it’s because of you that I’m wearing it, Little Witch.” He sank down on the bumper, his dark eyes tracking my movements as I began to transfer clothing and blankets from the van to the cart. “Odd that you of all people would forget that not all of the homeless are adults….”

I stopped, glancing up at him with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Those children in the orphanage might not be the only ones that need to have Santa visit them… there might be some kids out here who are hoping he’ll remember them this year too.”

I stared at him, feeling a hot rush of shame race through me. “I… I apologize. I misjudged your motives.”

The air shifted beside me—Pietro skid to a stop with another shopping cart in tow. “What motives?”

“He dressed like that in case we come across any children,” I said softly. “I didn’t even consider it… we should have brought some toys—”

“Ah… but tonight you’re not Santa Claus—I am.” Stark smirked, pushing his beard back into place as he climbed up into the van; a moment later, a large red sack came flying out—Pietro caught it with one hand as our teammate hopped down to the pavement. “Toys. Not a lot of them… but hopefully enough. Best I could do with only an hour to spare.”

“We should have told you sooner… you might have produced a reindeer and a sleigh, yes?” Pietro grinned, handing him the bag.

“There’s always next year, kid.”

“He will hold you to that, you know. He might not look it, but my brother is still a child at heart,” I said, moving the last of the clothing for the stop we were at into the second cart.  
  
“Does that mean he’ll be expecting toys under the Christmas tree?” Stark joked, watching as my brother hurried off down the street towards a man who was pawing through a dumpster.

“Yes… and he will have them.” I slammed the doors shut. He has always wanted a fancy model train set and a video game system. I got him both.”

“And what is it that you’ve always wanted, Wanda?” He hoisted his bag over his shoulder, shortening his strides to match mine as we set off after Pietro.

“For my brother and I to live a quiet, peaceful life, in a little home of  our own.” I glanced over at him, smiling. “Somehow, I do not think Santa will be able to give that to me.”

His dark eyes looked fathomless as he studied me. “If you want peace and quiet… why did you join the team?”

“A long time ago, a very wise man told me something that touched my soul. He said that the most important rule is that we _must_   help when we can. To do otherwise is an insult to our ancestors, and all of the people who wander.” I sighed, shaking my head. “I do not want a life of peace and quiet if it means another little girl has to watch her parents die, or that another little boy to be forced to grow up far too fast, trying to keep his sister safe on the streets.  Although I abhor the thought of violence and fighting… I will do it so that others can have what I dream of.”

“You are a very complicated woman, Wanda Maximoff,” Stark said softly. The tone of his voice was almost reverent—as if I was some sort of enigma that he could not solve.

“You have no idea.” The mischievous voice beside me made me jerk—Pietro had doubled back, moving far too fast for me to see.

I made a face at my brother. “You’re one to talk—you are far more complicated than me.”

“Me? I am an open book. And one with large print, at that.” He shoved his cart at Stark with a smile. “Push that for a minute, will you? I need to make sure she stays warm. Hop up, little Pietra… we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, yes?”

Giggling, I braced my feel against the metal supports between the wheels of my cart; he shoved the basket hard, climbing up behind me—the wind stole our laughter as we rolled down the street. When we reached the corner, he hopped off, jerking me to a stop—waiting for Stark to catch up.

“I thought we were out here to work… not to have fun.”

“Work is fun, if you do it right,” I shot back, grinning. “Our Mama used to say that whenever you toil, do it with a song in your heart and it will bring a smile to your lips.”

“Ah! That is what we are missing! Carols, yes?” Pietro reclaimed his basket from Stark, his eyes dancing with excitement as they flicked between us.

“Pietro! No! You know—”

“That you cannot carry a tune? Yes, my sweet sister, but I still love the sound of your voice. What about you Stark—can you sing?”

“Not unless I’ve had a few drinks first.”

My brother huffed. “Fine… then I will sing on my own.”

I giggled as he cleared his throat in a dramatic fashion—my laughter increased at Starks look of amazement a moment later when Pietro  began to sing.

_“Adeste Fideles laeti triumphantes,_  
_Venite, venite in Bethlehem._  
 _Natum videte, Regem Angelorum…”_

“Holy—he’s good!” Stark glanced over at me, his mouth practically hanging open.

“He used to be in the choir when we were little. Mama said he sounded like an angel straight from Heaven,” I said softly, my lips curving up in a gentle smile as my brother’s beautiful voice echoed down the street.

“Remind me to get him to sing the next time I have a party,” Stark muttered, still looking more than a little shell shocked at the sound of Pietro’s voice.

We walked two blocks before we saw another person—an old man peered at us from the shadowy recesses of an alley, drawn out of hiding by my brother’s cheerful song. I grabbed a blanket and a sweat suit from my cart, holding them out to him. “Hello sir… these are for you.”

He eyed me a moment, then slowly crept closer, looking wary. “What is this… some kind of a gag?”

“No sir… we just want you to be warm. And here—” Pietro dug in his pocket, pulling out a plastic card out of his pocket, holding it out to the man. “—it is nothing fancy… just the McDonalds… but there is enough on it for you to eat for a week.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then slowly reached out, taking the card; as he examined it, I stepped closer, wrapping the warm woolen blanket around his shoulders. “Merry Christmas, sir.”

His eyes darted up to mine—they were sparking with wetness that I pretended not to see. “I was about to give up. God done sent me help right when I needed it. Thank you missy… God Bless.”

I held out the sweat suit, smiling. “Just remember, when you are able… help someone else, yes?”

He nodded, taking the sweat suit from my hands—retreating into the shadows as he mumbled under his breath about angels roaming the streets. Stark stared into the dark alley with a look on his face that I’d never seen before—I reached over, laying my hand on his arm.

“Earlier… you wondered why we would want to do this—I saw it in your mind. You couldn’t imagine what was so important about spending Christmas Eve out on the streets. Now… you know.”

He tore his gaze away from the alley, his eyes meeting with mine. “Yes… yes, I do.” Clearing his throat, he glanced over at Pietro, who was watching me with a look of adoration on his face. “Well? What are you waiting for? We’ve got presents to deliver, kid—time for another tune.”

Pietro winked at me, then began singing a rendition of ‘O Holy Night’ in our mother tongue that was so heartfelt that I was certain my mother must surely be weeping up in Heaven. We continued walking—as soon as we turned the corner, the sound of a loud, excited voice interrupted Pietro’s song.

“Mama! Wake up! It’s really him—look!”

I froze, my eyes darting around the street, searching for the source of the sound; Pietro pointed to the parked car we’d walked past—a little girls face was pressed up against the window. Almost immediately, two more tiny faces appeared beside the first, then a sleepy looking woman sat up in the front seat—her eyes widening with surprise as they locked on Stark.

“It looks like you were right about getting to play Santa,” I murmured as we backtracked towards the car.

He smiled, waving at the children—loudly calling out ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’.

The window rolled down an inch—the woman looked terrified. “We don’t want any trouble—”

“Of course you don’t—that would land you on the naughty list.” Stark bellowed loudly. “Let me see… what do we have here… two little girls and a boy?”

The woman nodded, her eyes flicking from Stark to Pietro and me; I smiled, reaching out with my mind to project calming thoughts, with hopes of easing her fear. Stark dug through his sack—producing two stuffed animals and an action figure from its depths. “I do believe these have your names on them…”

Chewing at her lip, the woman looked back at her children—they were staring at the toys with wide, pleading eyes; she sighed, rolling down the window a little more. “Please… we didn’t mean any harm… we just needed a place to sleep tonight.”

“And your children just need Christmas presents,” Stark mumbled, thrusting them at the window. “Take them—it’s not a trick.”

She stared at the toys for a minute, then rolled the window the rest of the way down—wincing as the children began to shriek excitedly. “Thank you—”

“Are you a junkie?” He murmured softly as she passed the toys back to the children; he leaned against the car—watching as the little ones bounced around, examining their gifts.

“Wha—No! Why would you ask that?”

“Maybe because you’re sleeping in your car in the middle of winter,” he shot back.

“My husband ran off and left me with a stack of bills—I couldn’t afford a sitter so I lost my job… we got evicted.” Her eyes filled with tears as she glared at him. “You think you can judge me just because you’re handing out crummy toys—”

“No—I don’t.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card. “You show up at that address on Monday. If you pass the drug test… you’ve got a job.”

“But my kids—”

“Don’t you worry about that—we’ll work it out.” He stared at her a moment, then dug into his pocket again, pulling out a wad of bills and holding it out to her. “Go get a hotel room—it’s not safe for your kids to be sleeping in the car. That should be enough to cover you until Monday—when you come in, I’ll have the address of an apartment you can use until you get back on your feet.”

She stared at the money. “I can’t—”

“You can. Don’t let pride stop you from doing right by your children.”

Wide eyed, she reached out—her hand trembled as she tool the bills. “Who… who _are_ you?”

“Santa, obviously.” He jerked his thumb towards my brother and me. “Those are my elves.”

Scooping up his sack, he moved to join us—but the woman opened the door, climbing out of the car. Holding out the money, she shook her head. “This is almost a thousand bucks mister! I’ll never be able to pay that back!”

“Who said you had to?” Stark shot back over his shoulder. “Merry Christmas… I hope I’ll see you next week.”

I didn’t move until she got back in the car—and even then, I was spellbound for a moment, watching as she put her head down on the wheel and burst into tears. It wasn’t until the engine roared to life that I was finally spurred into motion—I moved my basket out of the way, waving at the children as she made a U-turn, heading North, towards a better part of the city.

“That was very nice—”

“Don’t” He cut me off gruffly. “Just let it go, Wanda.”

Pietro abandoned his basket for a moment, moving over to take my hand—his voice a soft whisper through my mind. _“You were right… the leopard’s spots are changing right before our eyes.”_

_“Perhaps… or maybe the spots faded long before we met him and we just didn’t realize it because our anger made us blind.”_ I stretched up, kissing his cheek, then shot an impish smile at Stark. “I take back what I said earlier… maybe someday I will find that Santa has left what I wished for underneath the tree.”

He chuckled softly, glancing over at me. “Maybe so… I can tell you one thing for certain—he’s going to try his best to deliver it, Little Witch.”

“Three more streets, then it’s back to the van—there’s a large group of people over on Monticello who hole up in an abandoned church.” Pietro retrieved his basket, shooting me a grin. “Unless you are getting tired, little sister?”

“Never. I am not giving up until the van is empty… provided, of course, that your old, aged bones are not starting to ache.”

“Was that directed at me… or at Santa?” Pietro shot back, arching a brow. “After all, he is old enough to be our father, yes?”

“Watch it kid—I’m not _that_   old.” Stark smiled, his eyes flicking from Pietro to me.

As I listened to my brother and Stark tease each other, I was filled with a sense of happiness that was so overwhelming that the only thing that mattered was letting it out. In that moment, I didn’t care that my voice was horrible, or that Stark might make fun of my inability to carry a tune—I just wanted to sing my favorite Christmas song, the way I’d done with Mama and Papa and my brother on the last Christmas that we’d shared. “Pietro… while we walk, you will sing the song to about the snow, please? If you do… I will sing it with you.”

“You will?” He looked surprised. “Okay…. Tony, do you know the words? You will sing too?”

Our teammate’s smile widened at my brother’s  use of his Christian name. “I don’t know what song she means…”

“It is the one about snow at Christmas—” I offered, “—from the old movie, where the women wore the beautiful dresses and everyone danced.”

“Snow at Christmas…” he frowned, looking confused. “You mean ‘White Christmas’?”

I nodded, unable to hide my excitement. “It is a very good movie. We used to watch it with our neighbor.”

“I know it. Alright, Speedy… you start us off—but if the two of you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

Pietro started to sing—almost immediately, the familiar words transported me back through time, reminding me of all the afternoons we’d curled up in front of the television in old Mrs. Kolinov’s apartment as she patiently explained who the actors were and what they were saying for the hundredth time. I was so wrapped up in my memories that I didn’t even mind the horrified look Tony shot me when I started to sing. It didn’t matter; Christmas isn’t about having a perfect voice, or wearing the perfect clothes—it is about sharing the joy you feel with the people around you, whether they be friends or stranger… and that is exactly what I did.     

All through that long, cold night, we wandered the streets of the city, just the way we’d once done in our homeland—only this time we were not searching for food. This time, we were fulfilling a vow we’d made years before as children, huddled together in a chilly, damp basement on a frigid winter night. We were giving hope to the hopeless—reminding them that there were still people who cared about their needs. We were honoring our people, and the memory of Tchin and Genia who charitably gave away all that they owned to help the people of their kingdom. We were making joyful noises that carried through the air, hopefully reminding the people that heard our songs about the magic of the holiday—rekindling the wonder and amazement they’d felt as children.

But most important of all, on that cold Christmas night, we taught Tony Stark that there are some things that are more precious than gold, and more rewarding than all the billions in his bank account—and in return, we learned an important lesson of our own.

Sometimes, the leopard _doesn’t need_ to change its spots at all—it is up to you to open your eyes and change the way you _see_ them.

—W.M.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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